. So, evening after evening, envisioning Miles calmly working through assignments, me tamping down any frustration with firm but loving words, I’d find that my irritation rose alongside his. Our cheeks flushed a matching shade of pink, our voices hardened. My words were anything but calm, anything but patient. Eventually, the charts were abandoned, the stickers left in their tight, promising rolls.tablets together like champagne glasses each morning, “Bottoms up!”.
He lingers after dinner, though, and tells me about school. When I ask about his classes, he sighs. Sometimes his cheeks flush and I sense I’m crossing a boundary, edging into the dangerous territory of irritation. And so I breathe. I remain calm. The Adderall whizzes in my blood and allows me to recalibrate, adjust my tone. It works every time. I calm and he calms too. His breath slows. We relax. The advice works. I wish I could find those stickers. We both deserve one.